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yourvoiceislikearose · 6 years

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When It’s Too Late

Summary: In which we see the few times the words hate and love were uttered between the eldest Winchester and Y/N.

Pairing: Dean x reader

Word Count: 921

Warnings: Angst, character death, cheating.

A/N: @frejahertziswritingthistime this is for your challenge! I hope you like it! Also, I put a keep reading thingy down there, I have no idea if it worked because tumblr sucks!

He didn't mean to, he really didn't, but he couldn't stop the words as they came out.

“I sold my soul,” he had blurted just seconds ago during dinner.

The silence was almost unbearable as he waited for a reply.

“Why?” she questioned lowly, anger seeping through the single word as she spoke it.

“Sammy-sammy uh, he died. I didn't know what to do,” he spoke quietly, as he played with his hands awkwardly, not giving her any eye contact. After a couple moments of uneasy silence, she stood up abruptly, and walked out of the room before he could even speak again. He followed her, quickly catching up and grabbing her arm.

“Y/N? What ar-”

“How long did you get?” she snapped and pulled her arm away from his grasp roughly, turning to face him furiously. Her harsh actions catching him by surprise, as his eyes met her angered gaze. He looked down, her question going unanswered.

“HOW LONG?” she screamed and pushed him roughly, causing him to stumble backwards a few steps before regaining his balance.

“One year,” he finally replied nearly inaudibly, his sad eyes boring into hers once again.

Staring back at him, her eyes softened for a moment, showing how pained she really was, only for the hard look to return a second later.

Taking an aggressive step towards him she yelled, “I hate you!” and started hitting his chest. With each hit, she screamed “you promised!” repeating the broken words like a mantra.

After the first few hits, Dean grabbed her wrists. She tried to fight her way out of his grasp, when she finally gave up, and the words you promised were merely a faint cry rather than a furious scream, he pulled her against his chest and held her tightly as she cried.

Her previous shouts brought the memory back to life as it played in his mind.

They were sitting on the hood of the Impala, stargazing.

“Hey Dean?” she broke the comfortable silence.

“Yeah?” he answered.

“Thank you,” she smiled.

“For what?” he questioned.

“For always being there for me when I need you, I don’t know where I’d be without you right now,” she leaned her head on his shoulder, and intertwined their fingers.

“I’m not going anywhere, you're my girl, forever. I may not always physically be around, but I’ll always be in your life,” he spoke sincerely.

“Promise?”

“Promise.”

They spent the next few hours cuddled on top of baby’s hood, both of them dreading the moment his dad would call him for the next hunt.

“Why?” her broken voice spoke, grabbing his attention.

“He’s my brother,” he whispered shakily, before pulling her even closer.

—

“Get out of my face, leave me alone,” she turned away from him again as he tried to get her to look at him.

“Baby, look at me, please,” he tried.

“Don’t baby me, I fucking hate you,” she spat as she began throwing her clothes in her duffle.

“Look, I’m sorry, I really am. I was drunk, and stupid, and I’m sorry,” he spoke remorsefully.

“I don’t need excuses, so, just save the apologies, okay? I can only imagine how many times this has happened and you just kissed me after, like it hadn't,” she shook her head, “I can’t believe you did it too, after everything we’ve been through together,” she said as she continued packing.

“I swear it only happened once, you gotta believe me Y/N, she meant nothing” he spoke desperately.

“How can I believe that after this? You didn't even tell me, Sam did!” she shouted.

“He didn’t give me a chance to!” Dean all but shouted right back at her.

“Oh, okay, wow,” she scoffed, “I can’t do this,” she zipped up her duffle before heading for the door. Realizing her intentions, he ran to the door and blocked her way.

“Please don’t,” he looked into her eyes sadly, “I love you.”

“No,” she smiled sadly, “No you don’t,” she said before pushing him out of her way and walking out.

It took weeks for her to talk to him, and months for her to forgive him, but eventually, they ended up together again. They couldn't live without each other, that much was clear.

—

“I hate you,” he whispered, a single tear falling down his face as he held her almost lifeless body.

She smiled weakly as she looked into his eyes, lifting her hand with all the strength she could muster she wiped the tear, “Fine,” she cupped his cheek gently, “I love you,” she croaked shakily.

“I love you too,” he cried.

“Shh,” she soothed, “kiss me,” she breathed out.

The kiss was short, and gentle, filled with passion and pain. When his lips left hers, he looked into her dying eyes noticing how they lit up weakly for a second.

“Thank you,” he heard her voice almost inaudibly say, he only offered a weak smile in return.

Seconds later, one last breath left the lips he’d just kissed. Minutes later, he cradled her lifeless body as his own shook violently while he sobbed. Days later, he murdered the monster that murdered her. Weeks later, he woke up to constant nightmares caused by the absence of her presence next to him in bed. Months later, he relied on unhealthy amounts of alcohol to get him through the days. Years later, he recklessly sacrificed his life during a dangerous hunt, in hopes he’d see her again. He couldn’t live without her any longer.

If you liked this, check out my masterlist here!

Tagging: @bamby0304 @makebelievetimeformymind @through-thesilver-lining @lifelovelaughangell123 @deanssweetheart23

If you don’t wanna be tagged, let me know ;)

#tropechallenge #dean x reader #dean x you #dean winchester #dean winchester x reader #dean winchester x you #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural

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n3rdybird · 6 years

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A Hound’s Purpose

This is written for @frejahertziswritingthistime #TropeChallenge. Hope you enjoy!

My trope was: Person A is working at a movie-theater, and is cleaning up, ends up talking to person B, because they are the only one left, and is ugly crying

Crowley (Human Blood) x Reader

The steady patter of rain outside made you yawn as you watched the world go by. People with dark umbrellas passed the old theater with barely a glace. It was to be expected, being the middle of the week. Your family’s old fashioned cinema wasn’t terribly busy on the weekends, let alone on a wednesday afternoon.

You had never expected to run the old theater when your parents retired. Sure, you worked for your parents for most of your teenage years. Back when you wanted to get out of your hometown, to leave it all behind. But with the years working every position, from the ticket booth, to concessions, to projection, the old theater and the regulars had grown on you.

One in particular.

The first time you had met him, you were just shy of five years, treating the theater as your playground while your parents worked. You had snuck into a dark theater that was empty, aside from a single man. As a child, you didn’t even notice how he was overdressed for a movie viewing, nor the glass of alcohol that wasn’t available in the concession stand in his hand. You just crawled into the seat next to him, and quietly watched the movie.

When the house lights came on, your mom came looking for you. When she saw who you were sitting with, her face went white. She shuffled you away, apologizing to the man in the suit.

It became a ritual of sorts. If you ever saw the man in the suit, you’d always join him. He was always by himself, and you believed movies were best watched with friends. You told him so yourself. In the dim light, you saw him smirk and introduced himself as Crowley.

As you grew up, you began to notice that your movie friend never seemed to change. When you asked, during a particularly boring part of a movie, Crowley seemed unphased by the questions asked by ten-year-old you.

“I am a demon little one,” he explained, watching your reaction out of the corner of his eye, while keeping his face forward.

You furrowed your brow in disbelief.

“Demon’s don’t wear suits. Where are your fangs, and your claws?” you asked matter of factly.

He chuckled at your forwardness and lack of fear.

“Why? Do you not believe me?”

You shrugged, chewing a mouthful of popcorn.

“I’ve never met a demon before. So I wouldn’t know.”

In the dark theater, Crowley’s eyes turned blood red, causing you to miss your mouth and drop popcorn on your lap. He looked at you expectantly.

“That’s pretty neat,” you started, before noticing the scene on the movie screen.

“Ooh, this part is my favorite, watch!” you exclaimed, your childish enthusiasm for the movie overriding anymore questions you had.

If you had been watching his expression, you would have seen a dumbfounded expression on the demon’s face as you completely disregarded the demon next to you.

“Well that’s interesting,” he muttered, before turning back to the movie.

So that’s how you became ‘friends’ with the demon known as Crowley. Regardless of his lack of soul, he was a well versed cinephile. So many afternoons were spent watching films and discussing them.

Your parents didn't like the time spent with Crowley. They knew exactly who and what he was. Apparently your great uncle entered into a deal with the sly demon, for the success of the theater. When his ten years was up and he died, your newlywed parents inherited a movie theater and a demon regular. But regardless, Crowley never seemed to have any muderous intent toward you, and your parents figured it was better not to piss of an actual freaking demon.

And now, many years later, you were in charge.

You hadn’t seen Crowley lately, but he that wasn’t suprising. From Crossroads demon he had become the King of Hell, and all the responsibility that came with. The last time you had seen him, he was tense. Not even relaxing during the movie which he had done in the past. When you asked, he snarled that had better things than watch movies with a human and snapped out of the theater without so much as a goodbye.

Not gonna lie, that hurt a bit. But you resigned yourself to the fact that you were just a human. You supposed you should feel lucky that he didn’t kill you. Either way, the weekdays were boring without him.

So you watched the rain from the box office, doodling on a scrap of paper. Your daydreams were interrupted by one of your part-timers clearing his throat.

“So I went to theater 2 to clean, and there was still someone in there.”

You raised your brow, motioning him to continue.

“And?’

“He won’t leave… and he,” he paused, trying to figure out what to say.

“And he is crying. A lot. He yelled at me and might have threatened to rip out my entrails and shove them up my ‘arse’? It was hard to tell between the sobbing and the accent.”

That caught your attention. That and the fact that you didn’t recall selling a ticket to theater 2.

You took in the pleading of his expression. He was young, just a teenager trying to make enough money to take his girlfriend out. And apparently shuffling a crying and belligerent customer was above his pay grade.

“Just watch the booth, I’ll deal with it,” you sighed.

You crossed the marble floors of the lobby, your eyes catching the scuffs of the abused floor. This place was well past its heyday, but you loved it all the same. As you climbed the red carpet steps, a throwback to the golden age of hollywood, you saw two more employees peaking into theater 2, whispering between themselves.

“Don’t you have work to do?” you asked dryly, shooing the pair away.

Theater 2 was currently showing A Dog’s Purpose, not the usual choice for a single man.

The film’s credits were still playing, the film theme doing little to mask the sobs coming from the middle of seats.

“You alright?” you called out.

The only reply was muted curses between heavy breathing. You decided to venture closer, sitting down a few seats away from the emotional man. The house lights turned on, revealing exactly who you thought it was.

“Crowley,” you said simply, taking in his appearance. He had a few weeks worth of stubble on his jaw. His normally crisp suit was creased and soiled in some areas. His cuffs were undone, as was his collar; his tie loose and askew. Top that with his blood shot eyes, he looked like a wreck.

“Damn, you look like shit,” slipped out of your mouth.

His eyes flashed red with annoyance, and you coughed.

Awkward silence reigned and you turned your eyes to the screen.

“The corgi scene got me,” you admitted, making him look at you confused.

“I watched this when it first came. Quality check, you know. But the corgi scene. That was the worst to me.” It was true. For being a family friendly movie, that movie had torn out your heart. Anyone who had ever had a pet dog would not be leaving the theater without some dried tear stains on their cheeks.

“Made me go home and hold my dog for awhile,” you finished lamely.

Crowley rubbed his face, cutting back a sniffle.

“Juliet… I haven’t seen her in months. Raised her from a wee hellhound. She’s my favorite. Such a good girl, I remember her first contract, tearing the man to pieces when he tried to run.”

He clenched his fist around his traditional glass of scotch, and threw it towards the screen. You flinched hearing the glass break, hoping there wasn’t too much damage.

“And now that bitch Abaddon thinks she can rule my home? Keep me from my Juliet?”

Not sure who he was talking about, you nodded sympathetically.

“Ex girlfriend?” you asked hesitantly.

Crowley snorted.

“Girlfriend? When hell freezes over. Which might happen if those two plaid imbeciles don’t get their act together.”

He continued to rant, his anger going high and then he would stop and sniffle, trying to reign in his emotions. You just watched the demon, taking in his expressions and movement. It was all too animated, too human. Crowley crying? You didn’t think it was humanly possible. (Or demonly you should say.)

You moved seats, taking the one right next to him. He seemed unaware of your movement, til you put your hand on his.

“Are you okay?” you asked seriously. He seemed taken aback by your gesture. Genuine confusion blanketed his face as he looked from your hand to your face.

Feeling awkward, you went to remove your hand, when he gripped it tightly.

“No one ever asks about me,” he said. His tone was soft, almost broken sounding. It made your heart clench, which was a weird feeling for the demon who had wormed his way into your family years ago.

“Even the King of Hell needs back up sometimes,” you told him truthfully. The two of you sat in silence. The weight of his hand pressing on yours was very odd. After all these years, you couldn’t recall ever touching him before.

You were broken out of your reverie when the credits finished. But Crowley kept his hand in yours. You pushed up the armrest, keeping the two of you apart. Leaning over, you wrapped your arm around his neck, hugging him. His arms slowly wrapped around your waist as you settled half on the seat and half on his lap.

“You know, when most women are in my lap, there are less clothes involved,” he whispered into your ear.

You rolled your eyes and pulled back, giving him your best “not impressed” look.

“You’re gonna have to do better than that,” you scoffed, moving to get off him. His arms tightened around your waist, keeping you in place.

“Oh I can,” he murmured, moving his lips close to yours.

Just as he was about to kiss you, you fell forward. He had disappeared. You cursed as you caught yourself on the cushions. A piece of paper fluttered through the air, landing in front of you.

Dinner, Friday at 8 o’clock. One of those teenage mouthbreathers can cover for you.

Thank you

Crowley

You sat back in the seats, re-reading the note and laughing to yourself at the absurdness of the situation.

Fucking demons.

#crowley x you #crowley x reader #supernatural reader insert #tropechallenge #spn fanfic #spn one shot

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ezilyamuzed · 6 years

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My Tangerine

Summary: Innocent back and forth between two hunters online turns into a little more.

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Warnings: Fluff. Angst. Language. Mentions of blood. Decapitation. Drinking.

A/N: This was developed for @frejahertziswritingthistime 800 Follower writing challenge. The trope I picked was ‘internet pen pals’. I apologize for any grammatical errors, but I am human. Thank you all for taking the time to read this. Any comments and feedback are greatly appreciated! Enjoy!

It all started off simple enough, just a harmless back and forth conversation with an internet stranger, but it slowly turned into.. much more. About two months ago you were trolling the online group message boards, hoping a case would pop up. Most of them of course had no merit to them. Michael Jackson had not possessed their child. Idjits. You couldn’t help yourself as you were scrolling through while finishing off a bottle of Jack to call them out. To have fun with them if you will. Back and forth arguments about Steve Jobs haunting all Apple™ products kept you amused for the next hour. You were about to call it a night when you received a private message request

IMPALA67: You seem to know a lot about ghosts.

You rolled your eyes at the screen. Of course you knew about ghosts, you had just took out one the other night. The dirt from the grave site was still stuck under your nails. You were just going to ignore it, but decided to see what this stranger wanted. Maybe they had a case for you to work and were just trying to find someone to help them

Tangerine23: I might know a thing or two.

Tangerine23: Why do you ask?

IMPALA67: I thought it was funny the way you were handling those conspiracy freaks. They don’t seem to know anything about what they are talking about.

Tangerine23: ….

Tangerine23: No. No they don’t. They watch too much Ghostfacers.

IMPALA67: LOL. Yeah, they are douches.

Tangerine23: So do you just randomly stalk people’s online debates to find people to talk to or do you have a point to all of this?

IMPALA67: Just found you interesting. That’s all.

Tangerine23: If you are a weirdo web stalker that lives in your parent’s basement you really need to find a new hobby.

IMPALA67: I most definitely am not.

IMPALA67: Why were YOU picking arguments with those posers anyways? Maybe you are the weirdo web stalker living in your parent’s basement.

Tangerine23: Maybe I am…you will never know IMPALA67.

IMPALA67: A mystery huh? Okay, I’ll bite.

IMPALA67: So Tangerine, what do you know about ghosts?

The message lingered in front of you as you sat pondering what you should say. Normally you would lie your ass off to any civilian, they would just call you crazy anyways. Even worse have you committed. This was different though, this was an unknown person on the internet. You most likely would never talk to this person, let alone actually meet them. The fifth of whisky you had finished off and your presumptions of the circumstances led you to the simple conclusion. Fuck it.

Tangerine23: More than you will ever know.

IMPALA67: Try me.

Hours had past as the two of you traded stories of the encounters you both had endured. Providing each other with little tidbits on some of the more interesting ways you have had to relinquish a pissed off spirit. As the stranger disclosed to you some of the things that would definitely have placed them in the looney bin, you came to only one possible conclusion.

Tangerine23: You’re a hunter aren’t you???

IMPALA67: Well I’m sure not gearin after Bambi if that’s what you mean.

Tangerine23: You know what I mean smartass. You hunt monsters.

IMPALA67: Monday-Friday, every other weekend. Well, depending on the case. I kind of already figured you were one by the way you were talking there.

Tangerine23: I’ve only known a couple of other hunters.

IMPALA67: Maybe you have met me then.

Tangerine23: Unless you are also dead, then no I haven’t.

IMPALA67: Yeah, that’s what comes with the territory unfortunately. Sorry to hear about your friends, I’ve lost a lot of good ones too myself.

Tangerine23: Never said they were my friends…

IMPALA67: Lone wolf then?

Tangerine23: It’s how I work best.

Tangerine23: Hunter’s tend to be sexiest asshole anyways.

IMPALA67: …?

IMPALA67: Wait, you’re a girl?

Tangerine23: Yeah dude. A girl. Got a problem with that?

IMPALA67: Nah, I’ve known quite a few girls that have kicked my ass once or twice. Just talking to you…it was like talking to one of the boys. Shootin the shit, ya know?

Tangerine23: So because I wasn’t all, “Like totally. OMG! Those shoes!” you just assumed.

IMPALA67: You’re a rare bread sweetheart.

Tangerine23: That I am. Not many of us girls getting the job done.

IMPALA67: So why do you call yourself Tangerine23?

Tangerine23: Well 23 is just a number…

Tangerine23: The other part deals with a song. If you don’t know it, then I don’t think I can continue this conversation any further.

IMPALA67: Tangerine, Tangerine, living reflection from a dream I was her love, she was my queen, and now a thousand years between

IMPALA67: Who doesn’t love Zeppelin?

His comment made you laugh while a smile rose upon your face. No one ever gotten it before. Heck, if it didn’t have anything to do with Stairway to Heaven, most people gave you glossed over looks when you even talked about Led Zeppelin.

Tangerine23: I see you can web search lyrics real quick there.

IMPALA67: If you could only see my tape collection. It’s a good song.

Tangerine23: That it is. Let me guess Impala67 is the year and model of your car?

IMPALA67: That it is.

IMPALA67: My Baby.

Tangerine23: Eh, a ’70 Impala is better…

IMPALA67: YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH!

Tangerine23: LOL! Touchy about your car huh? Sorry but I’m a little biased on the models there. I have a ’70 Impala parked right outside that is MY BABY.

IMPALA67: Well I accept your apology, and appreciate your choice in models, but I will have to disagree on your year choice. Clearly you are insane.

Tangerine23: Whatever dude. You know we’ve been at this for like 5 hours now…the sun is rising here.

IMPALA67: Where would that be?

Tangerine23: Like I am going to tell you.

IMPALA67: Okay… so I guess you won’t tell me your name then?

Tangerine23: Correct-a-mundo. Give the man his prize…

IMPALA67: And what prize would that be sweetheart.

Tangerine23: Dude, no.

Tangerine23: But seriously, I need some type of sleep. I got a long drive coming up.

IMPALA67: Yeah, me too. I got another case in the works.

Tangerine23: Well good luck with it Impala man.

IMPALA67: Can I talk to you again?

You sat back staring at the screen. It was nice to talk to someone about, well everything. Too often you lied so much about who you were, that you actually started to forget the truth yourself. An internet pen pal…why not? Someone you could just talk to on the road when you found yourself lonely on the road. Someone you could just be yourself with, without consequences.

Tangerine23: Yeah. Goodnight Impala man.

IMPALA67: Goodnight Tangerine.

Your drive was going to take you at least a day if you didn’t waste time sleeping or eating. There was a vamp nest on the other side of the country that was catching a lot of attention from the media. Of course they had no clue what was going on. They chalked it up to unusual animal attacks, but after a while of hacking into the coroner’s report you had your proof that there was definitely a case.

By the time you reach hour 15 of your drive you couldn’t take it anymore. You needed a break from staring at the same yellow and white lines along the road go by. You decided to check into a dump off the highway to maybe get something to eat and an hour or two of shut eye.

When you finally fed your hunger, you decided to flop on your bed with your laptop to see if there were any new reports of attacks. You had only been on it a minute when you had the pop up notification on the bottom of your screen that IMPALA67 had sent you another message.

IMPALA67: I’m dragging ass today. How about you?

Tangerine23: I’m here, that’s as much as I can say.

IMPALA67: So besides ganking monsters what do you do for fun?

That was the start of it. Your almost 6 hour conversation about everything and nothing at the same time. The two of you exchanging stories about your past hunts, the interesting people you’ve met, and what you did to pass the time by that was often lonely. It was easy to fall into since he understood what the life was like, for once it was like having a friend.

IMPALA67: Do you ever wish for the apple pie life?

Tangerine23: You mean the white picket fence, 2 ½ kids, and a dog life?

IMPALA67: Yeah, normal.

Tangerine23: I think I bypassed normal a long time ago.

Tangerine23: I don’t know, it’s just not really in the cards. I couldn’t really see myself settling down like that.

IMPALA67: Yeah, me too.

IMPALA67: I don’t know, I guess it would just be nice to actually share somethings with. You know?

Tangerine23: Yeah, I get it. It’s a lonely life.

IMPALA67: Yeah. I’m lucky I have my brother, but it may be nice to have someone else around.

Tangerine23: …….

Tangerine23: You hinting at something there Impala man?

IMPALA67: No…

IMPALA67: I guess, yeah. Say you and I were to meet tomorrow, what do you think would happen?

Tangerine23: We wouldn’t know.

Tangerine23: Look, I have to catch some sleep now.

You shut your laptop quick to not look at what he could have possibly responded with. The pit of your stomach felt like butterflies were going a thousand miles a second. Meeting him…this stranger. The stranger you met on the internet that you felt so comfortable exposing your true self to. Were you crazy? This was how serial killers find their prey. Humans were the worst monsters of them all. They had too many emotions going on that they usually picked the one that was the strongest. Yours right now bordered on fear and what was that? Infatuation? It had been so long since you had felt like this before. The last time you felt like this it ended horribly. End of your steel blade, horribly. There was no way you would ever let that happen again. You would not let yourself fall down that rabbit hole.

After a couple of hours of sleep you found yourself back on the road once more, picking up speed along the way trimming some time off your journey. You found a crappy motel in town that would make due for your base camp. As long as there was Wi-Fi and a bed you were set.

You pulled out your laptop to check out anything that could be found about the town, local hang outs, abandoned houses, the kind of places that screamed nest. You noticed a lingering message icon on the bottom of your screen. It was probably him. You hesitated before clicking on it to read what he said.

IMPALA67: Sorry if I had freaked you out. I just think you are a pretty interesting person, if you don’t want to talk to me anymore it is fine, I get it. Take care of yourself Tangerine.

Ugh! How could this guy be so sweet and understanding? He was literally making you sick to your stomach now, mostly from the guilt that you just shut him out so quickly. This was just an internet friendship. Two hunters shooting the shit. What was the harm really in that?

You stared at his message for quite a while, contemplating your words. You didn’t want to lead him on, but the last couple of days felt so nice. Being able to talk to someone else. Someone who got it. Got you.

Tangerine23: No, it’s fine. I had just really needed sleep.

You went to go and grab a beer from the 6 pack you bought earlier when you heard the computer chime with another message. You sat yourself back into the dusty chair in front of the screen to read the message.

IMPALA67: I get it. Hell I needed sleep too.

IMPALA67: What kind of case are you working on?

Tangerine23: One that is driving me up the walls right now. I can’t find the link anywhere.

IMPALA67: Care to share some details? Maybe I can help.

Tangerine23: And have Mr. IMPALA swoop in on my case? No thanks.

IMPALA67: Alright then. The cliff notes.

Tangerine23: Something alive killing a whole bunch of people.

IMPALA67: Well that really narrows it down lol.

Tangerine23: Small town with very little suspects.

IMPALA67: Small towns usually mean small town bars. Everyone knows everyone in them. That’s where I would probably start. If anything I’m sure you could use the drink during your investigation.

Tangerine23: You have no idea.

IMPALA67: I would try that first before running around crazy into abandoned buildings. You don’t know what you will walk into.

IMPALA67: I know you will disagree with me, but having back up isn’t a crazy idea.

Tangerine23: I’m good on my own.

IMPALA67: Just watching out for you.

Tangerine23: …..

IMPALA67: I mean, I don’t really want to lose this fun pen pal I’ve met. Kind of stubborn, but easy to talk to. Lol

Tangerine23: I’ll be fine. Actually I am going to check out somethings now while I still have a couple of hours.

Tangerine23: Talk to you later.

IMPALA67: You better. Stay safe Tangerine.

You decided to drive around the town for a bit while checking out the locals. This town screamed the white picket fenced life. Hell there was a coffee shop with a huge advertisement for homemade pies that you knew IMPALA67 would love. As he entered your thoughts you tried to shake it off. Got to get your head in the game. A run down bar appeared in the distance as the sun was starting to set. You shrugged while thinking ‘what the hell’. Maybe it did have answers for you in there. It definitely had the beer you needed.

When you walked you there was only a couple of people sitting around the bar. They looked like they were permanent fixtures in this place. You found a stool near the end where your back could be against the wall so you could keep your eyes open for anything strange and suspicious walking in. The bar tender brought you your beer while you just sat back and waited.

About two hours had past when a group of very pale 80’s looking rockers all fumbled in together. Your instincts screamed vampires as they walked to a back corner booth. The son of a bitch was right. A tall brunette man with a leather jacket and torn jeans led them in. He was definitely the leader of the group. He was going to be the prize fight tonight.

You found yourself watching them carefully, noting their antics as they interacted with one another. Some of the others watched the other bar patrons walk in while showing the hunger in their eyes. They were going to find someone right here, tonight. Out of the corner of your eye you saw someone walking towards you. You reached into your jacket pocket slowly as they drew closer to you, feeling the handle of your machete that hid underneath.

“Hey there sweetheart.”

You looked over at the deep voice, ready to attack. There stood a tall muscular man with the brightest damn green eyes you had ever seen. He gave you a half smile as he placed his hand on the stool next to you to sit himself down.

“Get lost buddy,” you snapped.

He stepped back and put his hands up in defense. “Sorry there sweetheart. I just noticed you were sitting here all by yourself. I figured you would want the company.”

“I’m spoken for buddy,” you lied.

He nodded his head and went to go sit down with a long haired guy who was holding back his laughter. Stupid men. Just then you saw that the vampire leader was starting to motion to the group that they were going to take off. You quickly fixed yourself up as you jumped down from the stool. Show time.

“Oh, my…” you cried as you “tripped” into the leader. He had caught you and pulled you up to his gaze. “I’m so sorry sugar, I must have had a bit too much tonight. I guess I am a little clumsy.”

“That’s alright there Darlin,” he replied with the smell of iron lingering in his breath and a malicious smile rising upon his lips. “We can get you home safe.”

“Well that would be mighty kind of you mister,” you smiled your most innocent smile you could muster. Damn your acting skills were good.

He led you outside by placing his hand at the small of your back, slowly rubbing it back and forth. The others in the group all chattering amongst themselves while displaying devilish grins toward you. You were going to be their dinner, but little did they know they weren’t going to get the chance.

Walking around to the back of the building you slowed yourself a bit, pushing yourself back into the leader’s hand. Were they going to do it here? You turned to face him, as he was licking his lips hungrily. Your hand shot to the inside of your jacket to grab the hidden machete, but the strong force of his hand across your face made you stumble down, hitting your head hard on the ground. You tried to get up quickly, but your vision was foggy along with an intense ringing in your ears. Someone was on top of you now, trying to push their mouth down to your neck as you swung and pushed back with all the strength you could. There was muffled yelling in the distance that you couldn’t make out as you fought your attacker. You managed to push them up just quick enough to feel the hot splatter of his blood across your face. You pushed the headless body off of you while you sat up, rubbing the blood off from your face. Your vision cleared enough to see the guy who had hit on you in the bar with his long haired friend standing above you with machetes in hand. Hunters.

“You alright miss?” The long haired one asked while reaching for you hand to pull you up. You ignored it and pushed yourself to your feet, rubbing your dirty and bloodied hands on your jeans.

“Just peachy,” you replied.

“I’m Sam, this is Dean,” he stated while pointing over to the green eyed flirt behind him.

“Good for you,” you said while pushing yourself past him.

“You were attacked, those things were not human,” he started to say, but you quickly turned to him with a scowl.

“No shit Sherlock,” you sarcastically replied.

“Do you need a ride someplace?” Dean asked while watching you look around to where you parked.

“No, asshat, I got it,” you said while collecting your bearings. You walked away angrily at them, but it was really mostly at yourself. How stupid could you have been to let them get a one-up on you. That was almost bad. You had really cut it too close that time. If it hadn’t been for the two guys showing up, you would have been the main course. You got into your car and punched the steering wheel releasing your frustration on it.

“Son of a bitch.”

After taking a much need hot shower, you passed out in your hotel room until early afternoon the next day. Your stomach grumbled that you needed food, and coffee was going to be a necessity to get you through the rest of your day. The small coffee shop in town that advertised the pies sounded like the best choice. After ordering you sat down at a table towards the back that was hidden behind a low wall so you could go through the web to find your next case in peace.

Others were coming in and out as the hours passed, but you weren’t paying attention to them as you searched through the web for anything that looked suspicious. An incoming messaged popped up on the screen that made a smile form across your face.

IMPALA67: How did the case go?

Tangerine23: Shitty, but it’s all taken care of now. How is yours going?

You heard a familiar ding almost as soon as you hit send, but it wasn’t coming from your screen. You shrugged it off awaiting his reply.

IMPALA67: It was a bit messy but it’s done. A civilian was stuck in the middle of all of it.

Tangerine23: That is always hard when civilians get stuck in the crossfire.

There was that damn ding again right after you hit send on the keyboard. You peaked your head over the wall a bit to see the same two guys from the night before sitting on the other side. The green eyed one typing on the computer in front of him.

IMPALA67: Yeah, she called me an asshat.

Your eyes widened as you read his reply. IMPALA67 was right there. The man you had been fighting feelings for was less than two feet away from you. A wall only dividing the truth. You watched him as he happily took a bite of apple pie while waiting for your response. This was it, you could fall down the rabbit hole or run away.

Tangerine23: Enjoying your apple pie?

You quickly and quietly packed up your stuff to sneak out the back, away from his sight as the nervousness hit you while tapping the send button. What had you done? You didn’t even stick around to see him staring at his screen in confusion while also looking around the shop to see if any one there could be you.

As you walked out you saw it, the sleek black ’67 Chevy Impala. You ran your fingers over her hood while appreciating her beauty. She was gorgeous. You leaned up against her and pulled out your phone to get to the messenger app, Sam and Dean walking out at the same time. Dean had a look of furry on his face that someone was on his baby as he stomped over but you just held up one finger while typing, stopping him in his tracks. You then held out your phone’s screen for him to read. He furrowed his eyebrows while leaning down his face to read it, the shock rising up in his face as he reread what it said.

Tangerine23: Hello IMPALA67.

He looked up with a shine in his green eyes. A smile growing so wide that every line in his face became deeper in pure happiness.

“My Tangerine.”

#pen pals #my tangerine #tropechallenge #supernatural #spn fanfic #dean x reader

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built-from-nothing · 6 years

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Dark Drops of Heaven

Prompt: Coffee Shop AU for Freja’s 800 Follower Trope Challenge

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 2,106

Warnings: None that I can think of, just some fluff.

A/N: Congrats on 800, @frejahertziswritingthistime. You deserve every single one and so much more! I’ve been obsessed with coffee lately, so this hit the spot. Thank you for letting me be a part of this challenge. Enjoy, lovelies!

You insert the key into the lock and turn, the pins clicking into place before the door swings open, bells above chiming away to alert your presence to the empty shop. Grumbling at the loud sound, you switch on the lights and toss the keys on the counter, the permanent smell of roasted beans and cream welcoming you inside.

Working at the local coffee shop has been nothing short of fantastic. When your best friend Charlie called you three years ago to help her run her dying, small coffee house, you never thought you’d end up here: co-managing a flourishing coffee shop that never seemed to have a dull moment.

You drop your bags in the back office and brew the first pot of coffee for the morning, eager to get the liquid energy into your system. No matter how many times you’ve gotten up at five am to open the shop, you still have yet to master the morning routine. Guess you’re stuck feeling like an early morning zombie every day.

Waiting for the coffee to percolate, you finish opening the store when the high pitched clang of the doorbells sounds again. God, you hated those damn things, always ringing away at such an ungodly pitch this early in the morning. Donna, one of the local sheriffs, walks in and sets a few boxes on the counter.

“Hiya, sweetie. Changed it up a little today and brought’cha pies instead,” Donna chirps, her voice similar to the bells on the door. The aroma alone curling from the box of warm, flaky crusts and sweet berries mixed with the freshly brewed coffee was enough to make your mouth water.

“Thanks, Donna,” you say opening the lid to take a peek at the delicacy waiting inside. It looks just as beautiful as it smells, the design etched into the top crust perfectly carved and browned to give it a nice, soft crunch.

“Think I might have to buy this for myself, it looks so damn good,” you laugh licking your lips, and turn to get Donna a cup of coffee. “Are you sure you don’t want to do this full time? We never have enough of your desserts to last us past lunch time.”

“Noo, I could never leave the station. Too much for Jody to do all by her self.” You pour the black liquid into a paper cup and doctor it up before handing Donna her usual. “Think Dean’ll be in again today?” she questions, raising her eyebrows as she takes a sip.

The sound of Dean’s name alone was enough to make your heart flutter. Dean works at the mechanic shop in town, his reputation with women proceeding him. Nearly every young and able-bodied woman in town had their round with the handsome devil, very few ever able to return for seconds.

“He’s a regular of course he’ll be in,” you scoff playfully and look away, desperate to get off this subject. Ever since Dean started coming in you’ve harbored a crush for the guy, his gorgeous eyes and perfectly coiffed hair pushing all your buttons. A few flirtatious lines would pass between you as you prepared his coffee, but never anything more. Girls would warn you, maybe more out of jealousy than good nature, that he was no good, the love ‘em and leave ‘em type, but something about him seemed different to you. Never had he treated you like an object, only making a serious move to get in your pants. He was always warm and sweet, talking about whatever thoughts struck him that morning and complementing your barista skills. He was a pure gentleman, through and through.

The door opens with a clamor, (you really need to talk to Charlie about taking those damn bells down), as Donna shoots you a pointed look.

“He just likes our coffee, okay,” you brush her off, not wanting to talk about your love life this early in the morning.

“That’s not all he likes,” Charlie bellows as she enters the shop and throws her bags across the counter nearly knocking Donna’s pie over the edge.

“Charlie!” you shout a slight tinge of pink on your cheeks and swipe the baked goods from the counter. “You almost knocked Donna’s-”

“It’s obvious the guy likes you, Y/n, the way you two flirt and fawn over each other. Just make a move already,” Charlie says before walking off through the swinging door to the back room. You slap your hand over your face and peek at Donna through your fingers, groaning.

She simply shrugs and nods in agreement with Charlie before adding, “See ya bright and early tomorrow, kiddo.”

You bid Donna goodbye and place her goodies in the glass display case beside the register, it taking every ounce of willpower you have not to devour the berry pie yourself. You place it on the glass cake stand on the top of the counter and sneak a small piece of the crust, the flaky pastry melting in your mouth. You force yourself away from the pie, popping one last bite into your mouth and do some last minute prep.

Soon enough the morning rush begins, lines of people filing into the coffee shop to get their daily dose of caffeine before work. You and Charlie buzz around, pulling shots and pouring cream, the minutes flying by as you serve customer after customer.

Before you know it, the rush dies down leaving a few stragglers here and there before the next onslaught of nine o’clock commuters arrive. The lull finally allowing a moment to breathe, you take inventory of your supplies. “I’m on my last cup, Charlie. Can you go get some more from the back?”

She nods and flounces off to the storage cupboard in the backroom. You grab a bag of coffee beans from an overhead cabinet and reload the machine when the doorbell rings. A man in a leather jacket and sunglasses slumps over the counter, his elbow the only thing propping his head up. He rubs his forehead and glares back at the door grumbling about the ear-splitting noise. So you weren’t the only one who hated the damn things. You stifle a snort and return to filling the coffee maker. “What can I get you?” you holler over your shoulder.

“Large coffee, black,” he groans, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“Rough night?” you giggle, pouring the remnants of the pot into a paper cup, and turn to face him. You stop dead in your tracks at the man that slouches before you, your heart rate accelerating. Why does the mere sight of Dean always have this effect on you? No matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t control how your body responded to him.

“You could say that,” he chortles removing his sunglasses, and looks up from the counter to catch your eyes. You watch, mesmerized as his tongue slowly peeks out to roll across his bottom lip, his teeth snagging on the plump skin as a grin spread across his lips. The thin layer of sweat coating your palms coupled with your short, shallow breaths makes holding the cup of steaming hot liquid a struggle.

Charlie clears her throat beside you, pulling you from your trance, and places the stack of cups in the holder near the register. “Uhh, here,” you stammer and hand the cup over to Dean. “Don’t want to hold you up.”

“You could hold me here forever, Sweetheart,” he purrs, voice low and smooth like a fine whiskey. “I don’t mind.”

You chew your lip and turn away to hide the warm flush filling your cheeks only for Charlie to make an awkward gesture signaling for you to make a move. You stare at her, flashes of shock, anger, and embarrassment passing through you. You turn back to Dean, your mouth open as you scramble for what to say.

“Can I have a slice of that pie to go?” he interjects, saving you from your speechlessness, and flashes you a heartfelt smile. “It looks too delicious to pass up.” All the nervousness and embarrassment raging inside you slowly fades away, the sincerity of his smile replacing it with comfort and ease.

“Absolutely.” You cut a slice from the pie and box the dessert. “I had a hard time putting it in the case this morning,” you chuckle, “I just wanted to eat the entire thing right then and there.”

His bright eyes focus on your lips before slowly lowering to rake your body. “I know the feeling,” he murmurs.

A wave of heat courses through you, down to the tips of your toes, as he devours you with his eyes. You instinctively cross your legs, the muscles tightening around your thighs, and bite your lip.

“Uhh, thanks,” he says, his husky voice low and gravelly as he pulls cash from his pocket and hastily leaves the shop. You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you’d been holding and watch him leave, your mind racing and unable to form a coherent thought. Did he just?

“What just happened?” Charlie asks, her eyes darting from you to where Dean just stood.

“I don’t know,” you whisper, unable to wipe the smirk from your face. A feeling bubbles low in your stomach, steadily reaching high into your chest filling you with excitement and giddiness. Charlie rolls her eyes and snorts.

“You don’t know,” she teases. “Let me just wipe up the puddle of drool he’s left behind on our counter after he totally just eye fucked you into oblivion.”

“He did not,” you scoff, rolling your eyes at the absurd thought. “He just has a thing for Donna’s pie.” Charlie raises her eyebrows at you and glares until you break down and giggle. “Okay, fine. He checked me out. Happy?”

The phone rings, breaking your conversation before she can make some smartass remark. You give her a victory smile and pick up the phone. “Lawrence Coffee, what can I get you?”

“Hey.” Your heart does a flip at the sound of the familiar gravelly voice on the other end of the line.

“Hi, Dean,” you flirt, unable to hide your excitement. Charlie comes rushing over at the sound of his name and puts her ear up against the phone, eager to hear why he called.

“I think someone stole a section of my pie. You wouldn’t have happened to see who did it by chance? It’s just too good of a pie to not eat every last bite,” he chuckles, and the determined fire behind Charlie’s eyes ignites.

“Ask him out!” she whispers furiously. Her mouth still close to the receiver, you quickly retract the phone and place the speaker against your chest. You pray Dean didn’t hear her and shoo Charlie off to go bus tables, or literally anything else that didn’t involve eavesdropping on your conversation.

You try to collect your thoughts and glance at the cake stand. Nothing seems out of place, the only person to have touched it that day being you when you cut Dean’s piece. Well, that and when you stole a small piece this morning. You examine the pie, unable to find your mitt marks from earlier and mentally slap your forehead.

“Yeah, about that,” you smile into the phone. “I have the culprit right here, and she wants to know how she can ever make it up to you. Stealing from such a delicious pie and all.”

“Dinner tonight at my place, eight o’clock.”

You can’t contain the shit eating grin overtaking your face. Dean Winchester, the sexiest man in all of Lawrence, Kansas just asked you to dinner. At his place. You pause and take a few breaths trying to gain control of your rapidly pounding heart.

“She’s deliberating, and - yup, she can make it. Insists there be pie present, though.” A full bodied laugh rumbles through the phone causing the breath to catch in your throat.

“You bet your ass there’ll be pie, Sweetheart,” he laughs and pauses, a dark, awkward tension building over the line. “Lots of sweet, delicious, moist pie,” he purrs, his lips popping the p to send a shiver down your spine. You hum in pleasure and try to tame the heat spreading through your body.

“Who eats pie at seven forty-five in the morning anyway, Dean-o?”

You can practically hear the wide smirk spread across his lips before he chuckles. “I never turn down a good pie - ever. But I just couldn’t wait to get my hands on this one.”

“Oh, really? And why is that?” you tease while lazily wiping down the counter.

“Was afraid that maybe if I didn’t eat it soon she’d get away, and I couldn’t have that.”

You stop and stare at the sparkling counter, the corners of your mouth pulling and quivering in exhilaration. “No, we can’t have that.”

Read Part 2 Here

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frejahertziswritingthistime · 6 years

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800 followers writing challenge!

YOU GUYS I’VE REACHED 800 FOLLOWERS! HOLY SHIT!

I’m so happy and proud, that 800 (!!!!!) of you, chose to follow me! In celebration, I’m hosting a writing challenge for anyone, who wants to participate!

Freja’s trope/prompt-challenge!

For this challenge, it’s all about the tropes. I love stories based on a trope, and it gives you guys some more freedom in your writing.

Rules:

Must be following me (new followers are also welcome to join)

If the story is more than 500 words, please use a keep-reading tag

NO SHIPS (only x reader, sorry Destiel and Sastiel fans)

It can be a drabble, one-shots or a three-part story

You must @ me, and tag me in the tags - remember to use #tropechallenge, so I can find it easily

It can be any sort of genre, BUT if you’re under 18, NO SMUT

Tropes can be found under the cut, and if you need a prompt or want me to roll the dice with trope, pairing and prompt, you can always message me!

At the end of the cut, you cna also find THE PRIZE - I will, of course, make a challenge-masterlist, so people can read your story, but I’ve got two other things to give out!

END DATE IS JUNE 24TH

Tropes:

Person A is working at a movie-theater, and is cleaning up, ends up talking to person B, because they are the only one left, and is ugly crying - @n3rdybird (can’t tag you, sorry!) reader x ??

Grumpy asshat and literal cinnamon-roll are BFF’S (can be a romantic sub-plot)

Cool badass is actually a GIANT NERD and gets teased about it

Persona A falls slowly in love with person B, and then realizes it because it hits them like a freight-train

“I hate you, but i would die for you” - @vylettwitch / @tigre5s - Castiel x reader

Friends to enemies to lovers

Enemies trying to outdo each other

Villians turned heroes

“Fairies made me do it!” - @storytimewithylva/ @wingedcatninja - Dean x reader

Friends to lovers

Friends with mutual pining for each other

Coffee-shop AU - @built-from-nothing (idk why it won’t tag you, sorry!) - Dean x reader

Cop AU

Soulmate AU - @sherlockstolemyname - Dean x reader

Mer-people

“I’m Batman” “Hi, Batman, that sucked, if I’m being honest” - @spnsoap ?? x reader

Regency AU (Boy!Prince, Boy!King and so forth)

Western

“Oh, bite me! “Where?” - @built-from-nothing Dean x reader

Tired, annoyed immortal being and actual RAY OF SUNSHINE trying to make every day work

Florist AU

Roomies

Farmhand AU

Different sides of a war (angel and Demon, for example)

Blind date

Bookshop meet-cute - @wilde-abandon (tag won’t work, sorry!) - Sam x reader

Internet pen-pals

The “We’re both reaching for the same bag of chips/sam pie AND GODDAMN IT, YOU MIGHT BE CUTE BUT I’M PMS’ING/HUNGOVER AND I WANT IT”

“I hate you!” “Well, fine, I love you!” “I love you too!” - @deansbabygirl01 Dean x reader

(and there’s plenty more, where that came from, if you would rather have something else, than I’ve written here)

PRIZES YES I’M DOING PRIZES

All: Everyone will be reblogged to my blog, and I will make a challenge-masterlist, where I will link every story. I will also mention at least one of the writers of the challenge in my upcoming fics (everything after the challenge), so you guys can get a little more exposure!

I will be doing first, second and third place. This will be judged by how much it stuck to the trope/prompt, notes, comments and so forth. I will pick three, and post them after the challenge ends, where you guys can vote for your favorite, and that will determine the winner!

Third place: Personalized drabble. Whatever you want - your own name or characters, or jsut a drabble just after your head!

Second place: Personalized one-shot - same as above, this will just be longer! I will also make you the writer of the week, which means I will reblog, mention and tag you and your stuff for an entire week, alongside my own fics.

First place: You will get (by own choice) a personalized drabble, one-shot or a five-part-story (same rules as above)! YES YOU WILL. You will also be the writer of the month, which means I will tag you, mention you, reblog you for an entire month alongside my own fics. AND THE BIGGEST PRIZE OF ALL (because I actually spent my own money on it)

THIS AMAZING NECKLACE!

If you are living in Scandinavia, it’ll get to you before July, and if you’re anywhere else in Europe and/or USA, it’ll be mailed to you, so it’ll be with you before August.

I will pick a winner, a second place and a third place. I will let you guys know through private message here on Tumblr; if you don’t answer within 48 hours, your place (and prize) will go to someone else.

HAPPY WRITING, GUYS!

(tagging people, who might be interested)

@jensenyourdeanisshowing, @sherlockstolemyname, @roonyxx, @al1y, @supernaturalmagicfolk, @redeyedvixen, @hobby27, @trustnobodyshootfirst, @andkatiethings, @wingedcatninja, @tayyfvck

#tropechallenge #spn challenge #spn fanfic #supernatural #spn #supernatural fanfiction #supernatural fic #reader insert #x reader #spn fic

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justaphage · 4 years

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#WIPitGood: Fake Relationship Trope

With Check, Please! finishing up soon @bardofspades suggested we all take a look at our WIP folders and post some of our works in progress as they are. I wrote a lot for Check, Please! but most of it is un-posted, When I look back some things I have no idea where they were going, and some I know I never new. I’ll start with something I wrote for @omgcp-tropechallenge, a blog that helped me a lot in starting writing again when I hadn’t been. I wanted to explore for this work, a fake relationship fic that wasn’t romantic/sexual getting together. All I have is this set-up scene, but I like it.

...

“You want me to pretend to date you, because your father is fine with you dating guys?”

“Right, that’s what he says Jack, but I know him. He’s a New England conservative; says he’s okay with ‘The Gays,’” Shitty paused for finger quotes and an eyeroll, “but I know, the thought of his son being being with a dude gives him the heebee-jeebees. We’re gonna expose him!”

“The heebee-jeebees? Shitty, why--” Jack let out a frustrated huff and pinched the bridge of his nose.

Most of the time he was grateful to have Shitty. It turned out to be fairly difficult to make friends in college when you wouldn’t drink at parties and were crippled by anxiety the rest of the time. As a result, the other guys seemed to think he was stuck up. Shitty just called him ‘a tough nut to crack’ and hung around in his dorm constantly like that would get him to open up. It had--sort of--but there were still a lot of things he hadn’t felt like sharing..

“Why do you want to antagonize him when you don’t actually want to date any guys?”

“First of all, I might date a guy, you never know.” Shitty started, but Jack just rolled his eyes. “Okay, fine--I want to see him squirm, he deserves it after the crap he pulled last summer. C’mon Jacky it’ll be fun.” Shitty reached for Jack’s shoulders and yanked him into his side, as if that could convince him.

“This does not sound, in any way, like fun.”

Academically, Shitty might think he knew a lot, but sometimes it was painfully obvious how much he didn’t actually get it. He didn’t seem to see how hypocritical it was to rail against sexualized advertising, then ask about graphic details of every woman his teammates so much as looked at. And he clearly didn’t understand how Jack would give just about anything not to have experienced that painfully awkward conversation with his parents about Kent back in the Q. Doing it again for Shitty’s weird vendetta against his dad was definitely the opposite of a fun weekend.

“Look,” Shitty switched to bargaining, “The guys are planning a big kegster this weekend, and I know you’re gonna want to be out of town anyways. So why not come to the house with me, snuggle on the couch a bit, watch my dad’s face turn bright red, and we both win”

“No fair, playing on my anti-social tendencies.” Jack tried for joking, but it was true. With every party he skipped without a reason the guys not-so-quiet remarks got nastier. He didn’t want to care what they thought of him, but it was escalating onto the ice. If people kept deliberately avoiding passing to him, they were never going to get to the playoffs.

“That sounds like a ye-ess,” Shitty sing-songed back at him.

“Yes.” Jack groused.

“Wooo!” Shitty used his grip on Jack’s shoulders to shake him excitedly. “I can’t wait to see his face. Do you think we could make out a little, really get the old man going?” He punctuated that with a disturbing wiggle of his eyebrows.

“No.”

“Hey, ya never know, you might like it, bro.”

Jack leaned as far back as he could with Shitty holding onto him and said flatly, “Bro, I know.”

“We’re both very attractive dudes, just a little kiss...” From his tone, Shitty was clearly joking around, still oblivious.

Jack saw his face coming at him though and his body just reacted, shoving him away and getting as far back as he could. “Though you were all about consent?” He managed over his thundering heart.

“Whoa, yeah, sorry man. I was outta line.” Shitty stayed where he’d been shoved, hands up like he was placating a wild animal. “I promise a kissing-free fake relationship weekend, okay?”

“Okay.” Jack muttered and stepped back towards Shitty, nervous moment over.

“Yeah!” Shitty gave a little fist-pump, “This is gonna be great!”

This was definitely not going to be great.

#wipitgood #omgcp #jack zimmermann #Shitty Knight #fake relationship #gen #closeted character #discussion of homophobia #mine

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garden-of-succulents · 6 years

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Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Check Please! (Webcomic) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Jack Zimmermann & Kent Parson, Kent/Maida/Luis, Kent Parson/OMC/OFC Characters: Jack Zimmermann, Eric Bittle, Maida Hombrebueno, Luis Hendrix, Original Characters Additional Tags: Jack's instagram, Social Media, omgcp tropechallenge, Kent and Jack rebuilding their friendship, Borderline Personality Disorder, self injury, Animal Death, Birding, Polyamory, Substance Abuse, Coping Mechanisms Series: Part 5 of garden of succulents Summary:

Jack begins photographing the peregrine falcon that hangs around his apartment building. Kent tries explaining how he knows so much about birds.

They try to talk without ripping each other to pieces.

#MOAR ABOUT PROVIDENCE'S URBAN RAPTOR POPULATION PLS #here's my contribution #jack zoomermann the falcon #kent parson

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justaphage · 7 years

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OMGCP Lovefest Day 3

Day 3 of @omgcplovefest is Rec your favorite fandom blogs & people.

First of all, everyone over at @omgchatplease! You folks are my home in the fandom. Someone is almost always around for fandom or personal life discussions. Many of the projects I have worked on had help from people I met there. Love y’all!

I’ve also worked with a lot of great people on my baby, the @samwellstudentunion. @tiny-potatos, @aergie, and @jckzimmermanns for it’s founding and @ladymars and @gustavnyquists for their current mod work

Honestly I’m terrified of @ing people and then missing friends so a few non-personal blogs I enjoy include: @checkplease100 @shitty-check-please-aus @shittyshipnames @jewishomgcp, @omgcpwomen, it’s dead now, but it came up as a suggestion and had a big impact on my early writing for the fandom so thanks @omgcp-tropechallenge, basically any blog that has ever run a character/ship specific week, and ofc thanks to @omgcplovefest for making this happen.

#omgcp #recs #omgcplovefest #q'D

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built-from-nothing · 6 years

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Dark Drops of Heaven Part 2

Prompt: Coffee Shop AU for Freja’s 800 Follower Trope Challenge

Pairing: Dean x Reader

Words: 3,080

Warnings: Fluff

A/n: Don’t forget to follow @frejahertziswritingthistime! Let’s see if the keep reading bar works this time...

Read Part 1 Here

“What are you gonna wear? Oh, how about that black top you bought last month. You know, the one with the lace and the knit pattern. Or what about the-” Charlie drones on, not pausing for a second to let you utter the simplest response. Ever since you got off the phone with Dean, Charlie hasn’t shut up about your date tonight, her rambles ranging from what you should wear to what kind of drinks he’ll have - or “will he even have wine, because he doesn’t strike me as the wine type.”

You lock the door to the coffee shop chuckling, “Charlie, calm down. It’ll be fine.”

“I know,” she coos, “I’m just excited you’re getting back out there again. I mean, it’s been like what, seven months now since you last got laid?” You slap her arm and motion for her to keep it down, the wandering eyes and ears of the small midwest town threatening to overhear. “Oh, who cares?” she snaps, rolling her eyes in return. “Sex is a beautiful thing!” she shouts down the main street, earning a few wary glances from passersby.

You finish turning the lock, your head shaking in embarrassment, and grab Charlie’s arm linking it with yours. “We didn’t close early for nothing you know. I have to go get ready.” Charlie’s eyes widen in alarm as she jerks your linked arms to check her watch.

“Accounting twenty minutes to get to Dean’s, minus the ten minutes it takes to drive to your apartment, you only have an hour and a half to get ready. We have to go!” She gasps, reaching into the back pocket of your jeans where you keep your keys and hastily pulls you to your car. Charlie swoops into the driver’s seat and speeds down the bustling town street, the car horn emitting a continuous stream of sound as she weaves in and out of slower vehicles.

Three heart attacks and a near sideswipe of your side-view mirror later, you reach your apartment and rush inside. Charlie races in front of you desperate to get to your closet, and starts rooting through your clothing selection, yanking the thin pieces of material out that don’t meet her criteria and throwing them across the bed and floor.

By the time you reach her, the entire contents of your closet are strewn across your bedroom hanging off of lamps, bed posts, and chairs. “Charlie, what are you doing?” you say walking to her, carefully stepping so as not to dirty your clothes.

She responds in grumbles and garbled words, her head buried in a heaping pile of clothes. She emerges, a black lacy thong stuck to her hair and plucks it from her head. Charlie cocks an eyebrow and pants, “Looks like Dean’s in for a treat tonight.”

A blush creeping up your neck, you snatch the panties from her grasp, sticking your tongue out at her for good measure, and storm off to the bathroom. “You better wear those,” she hollers down the hall after you.

“Bite me!” you shout back before shutting the bathroom door. You quickly strip down and slip into the warm water cascading down the shower walls. The soothing scent of your shampoo combined with the relaxing steam seems to temporarily calm your nerves.

You knew there wasn’t anything to be nervous about. Dinner with Dean would be easy, natural; not much different than when you saw him at the coffee shop, but you still couldn’t shake the butterflies fluttering around your stomach like a kid in a candy store. There’s just something about him that makes you excited, nervous, and blissful all at once.

You exit the shower, your feet wincing at the touch of the cold ceramic tile, and see the outfit Charlie left for you on the sink. Wearing the lacy thong Charlie found, you step into a pair of lightly distressed skinny jeans and smile when you grab the top. Knowing it’s one of your favorites, Charlie picked a black off the shoulder top that hugged you tightly, extenuating your voluptuous curves. You apply a light face of makeup and take a look at yourself in the mirror.

Fierce. That was the only word that came to mind. You looked damn sexy in the slimming top but paired with skinny jeans and combat boots you were ready to kick some ass. Dean wouldn’t know what hit him.

“Okay Charlie, I’m leaving now. You can let yourself out, right?” you say, rooting through your purse making sure you have everything you’d need. The quick shuffling of sneakers on the hardwood bustles through your small apartment as Charlie comes flying towards you at record speed.

"Wait! I need to see my creation in action." Charlie shouts and gives you a once over nodding in approval before enveloping you in a hug. “Remember: wrap it before you tap it.”

You shake your head chuckling, and step through the door closing it softly behind you. You take a deep breath to reset yourself and head down the stairs to your car. Tonight will sure be interesting.

You arrive at Dean’s place a few minutes late and try to calm the nerves and stray hairs flying about your face. You struggle to get them in place, each one springing back up the second it’s in place, and eventually decide enough is enough and tap on the door. Feet shuffle to the door and Dean answers, his broad frame taking up most of the doorway. The top two buttons of his grey henley remain unbuttoned and a pair of lightly worn jeans hang low on his hips.

“Hey, gorgeous! Come in,” he chimes wiping his hands on the dish towel slung across his shoulder. You duck your head, a light flush filling your cheeks, and slip past his towering frame. Dean’s eyes follow you inside, slowly moving down your body as he ogles over your sexy, fierce figure.

It seemed every time he looked at you he observed something new. Like how now your shoulders were somewhat turned in whereas at the coffee shop you held a more natural, comfortable stance. Or how the fabric of your jeans hugged your ass perfectly. And oh, that ass. Dean couldn’t help but stare, thoughts of you rubbing up against him bubbling inside his mind. He clears his throat, prying his eyes from your body, and follows you further inside.

“Dinner’ll be ready in a few,” he says making his way back to the kitchen. You walk around the living room taking in as much as you can. The apartment was more of an open concept, the kitchen and living area one large space with a small hallway that led off to the right.

Pictures of his family sit scattered around the room, his mother and brother the main focus. Everything had a place, save for a few empty beer bottles and open books laying on his desk, yet you had the feeling he didn’t mind feet on his coffee table. There were subtle scuff marks on the right-hand side after all. His apartment emitted a sense of warmth and comfort, one of a home that was truly lived in.

You make your way towards the soft buzz carrying around the room, filling it with smooth sounds of 70’s classic rock. You watch as a record spins round and round on the turntable, the needle slowly shifting towards the center of the vinyl. Grinning, you root through his record collection beside the box until you find one suiting your taste and place it on the turntable. You sway your hips to the music, losing yourself in the sound of your favorite classic vinyl.

“I see you’ve found my record player,” he states leaning up against the edge of the desk beside you. You stop dancing and glance up at him.

“So I have. You’ve got quite the collection.”

“Well, don’t stop on account of me. Carry on,” he flirts, tilting his head to the side. You chuckle inwardly and stare down at the revolving record, the sudden self-consciousness sprouting within you making you too chicken to maintain eye contact. A warm, calloused hand grips your chin turning it to meet his eyes.

“There’s no need to hide from me, Princess,” he purrs, his eyes sparkling in the warm light. You relax in his grasp and begin to sway your hips, all the while keeping your eyes locked on his. He soon lowers his hand to grab yours and spins you around to fully face him. Your hand snakes around his neck, your fingers playing with the short hairs on the back of his neck while your other hand rests upon his chest. His arms do the same, wrapping snugly around your back.

You dance to the slow, steady hum of the guitars, Dean’s body moving in time with yours. He spins you around once more, his arms engulfing you as your back comes to rest against his broad chest. His hands trail down your sides finding their way to the divets in your hips. His fingers dig in ever so slightly, holding you in place as you swing your hips in his grasp. You sink down, lightly rubbing your ass against his thigh before rising, your body trailing along his.

“You keep this up our food’s gonna get cold, Sweetheart,” he growls in your ear, his voice breathy and hot on your skin. You turn in his arms and look up at him through your lashes.

“Do you call me Sweetheart because you don’t know my name, or-?” He looks away, his lips parted in a smirk as he contemplates his answer. “If it’s a kinky thing that’s okay,” you rush, beating him at a witty remark. “I’m all for it, but I usually wait until after the third date. Not everyone likes being tied up,” you say nonchalantly before breaking out in a fit of giggles. A low, hearty laugh rumbles from his chest and he slips his hand in yours leading you to the dining table.

Colorful dishes lay spread across the table like a beautiful splatter painting, each one filled with vibrant colors and flavors dying to be melded together to create the ultimate dish. “They’re steak tacos with cilantro radish salsa,” he mutters as you both take your seats. You grab a shell piling it high with toppings and take a bite. A parade of flavors bursts in your mouth, each one marching to the front to stand out amongst the rest before another follows in its footsteps. “This is amazing,” you hum taking another large bite. “Thanks, I got the recipe from my mom,” he smiles. “I was nervous about the radish salsa. I’m not usually one for vegetables, but figured I should make something other than burgers for once,” he huffs, scratching at the back of his neck, and takes a swig from his beer.

“If everything you cook tastes this heavenly, I don’t care what you make as long as I get to eat some,’ you say shoving the end of a taco into your mouth. You both begin to laugh, food threatening to spill from your mouths. You garble up the rest of your food as lady-like as you can with the most delicious taco you’ve ever laid hands on sitting in front of you and help him clear the table, placing the dishes in the sink.

“You’re welcome to stay if you’d want to watch a movie or something,” he says as you carry over the last set of plates from the table. “We have pie.”

You bite your lip as a wide grin spreads across your lips. A man who cooks amazing tacos and remembers to get pie: you could get used to this. “You had me at pie.” A full bodied laugh rumbles through him, his head throwing back as his chest heaves in pleasure. You can’t help but join in, his carefree laughter contagious.

“My kind of gal,” he mumbles once he regains control of his voice, and begins to prepare the pie. Heat channels to the tops of your cheeks at his comment, and you look away.

“Do you mind if I make a pot of coffee?” you ask spotting the machine on the counter.

“Sure, as long as you pour me a cup,” he smiles back as he plates the pie slices. You turn on the coffee maker and go about brewing a pot while Dean walks the pies to the couch and scrolls Netflix in search of movies. You pour two cups, fixing yours how you like, and plop down on the couch after handing Dean his mug. He takes a large sip and sighs contently.

“God, I’ve been making coffee in that pot for years and not once got it to taste the way you make it. You gotta teach me how to do that,” he chuckles. You take a sip of your own, the bitterness biting your tongue before the cream and sugar wash over your taste buds like a sweet serenade.

“A magician never reveals his secrets,” you retort before the beginning credits start to roll.

You watch the movie, scraping the last remnants of your pie from the plate when you feel Dean’s arm sling over the couch to rest upon your shoulder, pulling you into him. Feeling bodacious, you set your dishes on the coffee table and scoot closer, lightly nuzzling into his side. His scent of leather and grease, with a hint of cilantro from dinner, fills your nose bringing a sense of comfort and exhilaration.

The presence of another warm body resting beside yours, each other’s unique smell and body heat swirling together to create something new, soothes all worries and doubts coursing through you. You weren’t alone anymore. Something new and amazing was brewing between you, happiness and adventure waiting on the other end. With every new relationship came unfamiliar territory, the threat of long arguments and lonely nights looming overhead, but you didn’t care. You were content to simply be wrapped in his arms, your belly full of pie, coffee, and butterflies. Peaceful, you close your eyes and smile, the steady rise and fall of his chest lulling you to sleep.

***

The fog slowly dissipates from your brain as your nerves try to fire once again. A small line of drool dribbles from your parted lips to pool upon the pillow beneath you. You let out a long groan and nuzzle your nose into the comfortably firm pillow, silently begging for five more minutes.

A low grumble resonates from the pillow below before stirring, the sudden shift startling you awake. Your eyes shoot open at the sound, your bed never having groaned back at you. Dean lies beneath you, your limbs entangled as you both lie on the small couch. Realizing you must have spent the night, you frantically scan the room for a clock. The beady little numbers on the cable box read 8:30.

You were scheduled to open the shop at 6.

You hop off of the couch, your hand pushing into Dean’s stomach as you heave yourself up. He grunts in pain and curls his knees up and out to the side, instinctually protecting his abdomen. His knees swipe at your legs causing you to lose balance and fall to the floor whacking your legs off the coffee table on the way down, the loud thud echoing around the room.

“I’m up!” Dean hollers as the loud raucous tore him from his slumber. “What’s-?” You ignore him and turn to sit on the floor, your eyes now level with the couch cushions. You rub your shins and look up, a large tent-like object obstructing your view.

“Oh, you’re up all right, Mister,” you snigger. Dean gazes at you quizzically, his eyes still laced with sleep, before the double entendre dawns on him. He hastily moves to cover himself with a pillow and runs a hand down his face, a few unintelligible grumbles leaving his lips.

“Yeah, yeah, coffee. I know,” you snap. Dean signals a thumbs up and continues to rub the sleep from his eyes. You stand with a grunt and proceed to the kitchen.

“Time’s it anyway?” he slurs, sitting up to turn and look at you with squinted eyes. You recite the time and his eyes flash open, alarm striking his features. “I have to be at work in fifteen minutes.”

“Try two hours buddy. Coffee shop shifts are a bitch,” you scoff and brush him off as he scurries to get changed, his movements awkward as he attempts to cover his morning wood as he walks.

He hobbles over to the counter pushing a shoe onto his foot and spurts, “You can let yourself out, right?” You stare at him blankly for a few seconds, your brain unable to fully function this early, before nodding.

Without another word, he grabs his jacket and flies out the door, a small gust of wind trailing behind him. You pour yourself a mug of coffee from the pot, take a sip of the steaming liquid, and set the cup down. Well, that was...interesting.

As swiftly as he left, Dean returns catching you off guard as he sweetly pecks your lips. Your body catching on faster than your brain, you kiss him back, your lips lazily moving together. He pulls away, much too soon for your liking, and gazes into your eyes.

“I had fun last night,” he smiles, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Me too,” you murmur, unable to peel your gaze from the crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. He cups your cheek in his palm, his large, calloused thumb brushing back and forth against the soft skin.

“Was that a hint of coffee I tasted?” he teases as his hand reaches for something behind you.

“Why don’t you have another taste and find out.” He tilts his head to the side shrugging, and pulls a mug of coffee out from behind you and takes a large sip.

“Nope, that was definitely coffee,” he says slowly backing away towards the door. You scan the kitchen to find your cup missing and turn to him shaking your head in playful anger. He takes another sip of the black liquid and flashes one last killer smile.

“Pure heaven,” he purrs before ducking out the door.

You sigh and go to pour yourself another cup of coffee. Half a pot left to finish, you take your time gathering your things and plop down on the couch. You grab a magazine from the table and casually flip through it sipping your coffee all the while. You’re already two- no, make that three hours late. What’s another two on top of that?

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